


Inside Out

by DearOne



Series: not in the way that you think. [2]
Category: Bandom, Music RPF, Panic At The Disco, Young Veins
Genre: M/M, Past Relationship(s), Slash, rywalk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-18
Updated: 2009-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearOne/pseuds/DearOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan and Jon are drunk, smutty things ensue. POV: Jon Walker</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside Out

**Author's Note:**

> (1) UNBETA'D (2) This could be a sequel to How to Tell You this in Person?, however, reading that fic is NOT necessary. (3) My first PWP (plot? what plot?) fic XD 
> 
> Unrelated note: How freaky weird (but cool) is it that Nine Inch Nails' "Something I can never have (still)" started playing as I posted this? I think it kind of fits. In Ryan's line of thinking, maybe? lol Anyway...

ccc

I’m losing myself, but not in the way you think. 

Someone is here, but that someone isn’t really here. He’s leaning on a doorframe, staring at me, or rather, looking through me. 

I don’t move.

He moves forward, towards me. I hold my breath.

The next thing I know his legs are on either side of me. Folded over me. Pointy knees digging into my sides, thin hands braced on my shoulders, long fingers gripping me--it hurts. 

I want more. 

He puts his forehead to mine and somehow I think he feels the same way as I do. Lost.

I watch his eyes flutter close and his lips slowly part, it’s beautiful. When is he not beautiful?

I drag a hand over his long sleeved clad arm and up around his shoulder. I rub a small circle at the back of his neck, loving the feel of his soft hair brushing the back of my hand. I pull him closer. He doesn’t open his eyes, but somehow he tilts his head in a perfect angle to meet my lips. He tastes of alcohol, and I’m sure I do as well. We drank the same drink and yet his lips taste sweeter. I run my tongue along the soft inside of his mouth, he moans softly and I can feel the sound reverberate through my body. Fuck.

I. Am. Lost.

He shifts closer and his eyes finally open, I drink in the lovely pools of liquid brown. It’s too much--so damn much. My eyes close when I feel a weight against my straining cock. He’s touching me. I can’t breathe. “Fuck.”

I don’t dare to open my eyes, but I know for certain that he’s palming me. And it’s too much and not enough all at once. Then the feeling is gone all together. My eyes wrench open and I see him, he's taking me apart. 

“Look at me,” he whispers.

I nod once and watch his eyes drink me in. Seconds pass by. Minutes pass by. I don’t dare to even blink.

Next thing I feel is a feather light touch through my jeans, and fuck, he’s pulling down my zipper. And when’s the last time I heard a zipper? Was it ever this loud? This deafening? His hands are on me again and I lose all sense of thought.

“Touch me,” he says, his voice slightly cracking.

And I touch him all over. My hands are too shaky to properly undo the buttons to his shirt, so in my frustration, I yank it open. I hear buttons pop off and hit the floor and table. My eyes find his and I briefly think he might be pissed off about me ruining his shirt, but he merely runs his hands through my hair and kisses me. I think about ripping all of his clothes off just to see his reaction. Just to see what I can get out of him. I know this will not last, no matter how much I wish he would stay forever.

I slowly undo the button to his jeans and carefully lower down his zipper. I’m surprised that I’m not surprised he’s not wearing any underwear. I didn’t know what to expect, and yet, I’ve seen him naked before. But he was never aroused, not like _this_.

I bite my lip as I touch his erection for the first time. He bats my hand away after a few firm strokes and I look at him and he’s biting his lip. 

“I... I...” He trails off. He looks around the room and then he closes his eyes and he shifts in my lap. “I want to feel you inside,” he says.

I don’t say a word. In fact, I don’t think I even said anything since this whole exchange started. My hands grip his hips and I’m sure my hands will leave marks. I gulp as I realize what he wants, what I want. 

And before I begin to think how to start I feel him shift again. His pointy knees dig deeper, his legs spreading further apart so the weight is more on the cushions of the sofa chair that I’m sitting on. I follow his long arms that are no longer wrapped around me but reaching behind himself.

I must look a total wanker as I realize with excitement that he’s fingering himself, opening himself for me so I can be inside of him.

I want to watch him forever like this, but it ends all too soon. And when I feel him positioning himself above me, I feel as if I want this moment to last forever as well. 

He doesn’t question if it’s going to hurt or if I’m going to fit. He doesn’t even question the fact that we don’t have lube or a condom. He doesn’t hesitate as he lowers himself onto me. 

I chance a look to his face. Locks of hair stick to his forehead and fall around his eyes, framing his face. His eyes are closed, his brows are furrowed as if he’s concentrating, his swollen lip is trapped by his teeth--fuck, he’s beautiful. So fucking beautiful, and I’m inside of him. 

He, of course, sets the pace but I match him perfectly, as I raise my hips to meet him and I hear the slap of skin, and our breaths deep and quickening, and fuck it’s not enough and too fucking much.

 _This_ lasts forever. This feeling. This weight in my chest. This heat that is coming in waves from him or from me, or rather, the both of us. This is an interruption that got interrupted by coming.

The air is filled with sounds. Grunts. Moans. Skin moving over skin. 

And we don’t ruin the moment with words after.

This I’m thankful for and I think he appreciates it as well.

He rests his forehead against my shoulder and we sit together. It feels refreshing and just a little uncomfortable as our slick skin begins to dry from the cool air around us. It gets colder and colder and I hate the cold. The cold pulls us apart so that we could seek clothing.

He winces as he lifts himself off of me, and I feel empty as I slip out of him.

I watch him button his shirt awkwardly with the few buttons that remained. He bites his lip again as he grins when he catches me looking. I’ve just seen him naked and yet this, now, him putting on his clothes is what naked looks like, walls down, and just a little bit embarrassed. His hand runs through his disheveled hair and then rubs at his chin in a familiar gesture. 

He disappears behind the sofa. I end up putting my shirt back on inside out. And when I see him next he’s holding my sweater. “Lift your hands,” he says, casually, like he’s commenting about the weather, like I didn’t just hear him moan as I pushed inside of him moments earlier.

I lift my hands and I laugh as he tugs my sweater over me, my head catches in the fabric and I hear him laugh as he shifts the fabric.

When we’re fully clothed, he sits again beside me. We don’t cuddle but he does lean into me, and just before I fall asleep I hear him laugh. “Fuck, I’m sore.”

“That’s a good thing,” I say.

He attempts to hit my shoulder but drops his hand instead to grab hold of mine. I lace our fingers together. And he tightens his grip. It’s interesting how our hands fit together. Our hands don’t quite fit, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less perfect.

I know what he’s thinking, and I’m okay with it.

“I miss him,” he says.

I tighten my grip on his hand. “I know.”

_I know._

**fin**


End file.
